Floo
by Ayla Pascal
Summary: Harry Potter still gets lost as he travels by floo." What happens when he gets out at the wrong fireplace?


Harry Potter still gets lost as he travels by floo. Somehow he cannot familiarise himself with the dark twisting tunnels that flicker past his vision in the moments after he throws the floo powder and before he clambers out of the fireplace at his destination. He still sometimes steps into the wrong fireplace and backs away awkwardly with a hasty apology.

But Harry has never stepped out of such a wrong fireplace before. As he looks around, he realises that he has never seen this place before. The darkness is enveloping.

He coughs slightly. His clothes are covered in soot. It covers the white streaks in his hair.

"Is somebody there?"

Harry realises that the room isn't empty. The chair in the far corner, covered in shadows, swivels slowly.

"Sorry," Harry calls out shakily. "I should get going now."

"What's the hurry?" The voice is slow. Almost insolent. Or simply tired.

"I got out at the wrong fireplace," Harry apologises again as he reaches into his pocket. The sooner he is out of this place the better.

"As I said, what's the hurry?" The figure shuffles slowly towards Harry. His face is slowly discernable in the faint flickering firelight.

"Draco Malfoy?" There is a note of surprise in Harry's voice, but mainly of disgust. It is no surprise to him that the other man ended up here. Dirt poor. Just enough money to connect his fireplace to the floor network.

"One and the same." There is a sort of wry humour in the other man's voice. As if he knows what Harry is thinking but doesn't care.

There is an awkward silence as Harry fingers the floo powder he always keeps in a small pouch in his pocket. Perhaps he should just grab some, throw it on the fire and leave from this obviously cursed place. There wasn't a time when they were at school together that Draco Malfoy would be able to resist throwing nasty comments at Harry regardless of the circumstances. But, his mind reminded him warily, it has been a long time since school.

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?" Strangely, Draco seems to be echoing Harry's thoughts.

"A long time." Harry agrees warily.

"How long as it been? Fifty? Sixty years?"

"Seventy-eight long years," Harry says grimly. "Seventy eight years and it feels like yesterday."

"To you, maybe."

Harry raises an eyebrow.

"Your life has been perfect. Perfect marriage. Perfect children. Hell, even a perfect divorce. Oh yes, and you aren't the pariah of the wizarding world. In fact, you're the darling of our world." He laughs sharply.

Harry doesn't know what to say. "You chose your own road," he finally says.

"Did I?" Draco says bitterly. "Did you? Did anybody? We all travel the road expected of us. We're all so utterly predictable. So utterly human."

"You made your own decisions." Harry wonders if he is simply repeating himself.

Draco chuckles. It isn't a pleasant sound. "Ah yes," he says. "Of course. I wanted to be a Death Eater."

"You did," Harry agrees. Why is he still here? Why doesn't he just turn his back and leave? But Harry knows why he is still here. After almost a century, Harry wants answers. To all those questions asked and buried so long ago. Those questions that his children, even his grandchildren wouldn't ever think of asking.

"You're probably right," Draco's voice breaks into his silent musings. "I did want to be a Death Eater. The whole purification of the wizarding race thing. Who would have thought that the Muggles would have done our job for us."

Harry bites down hard on his lip and tastes blood. His hands tremble. Of old age? Harry doesn't know. Don't wizards have a longer life span than that? "Well you got your wish." Is that bitterness in his own voice? Harry cannot remember the last time his voice was bitter. Perhaps when ... his best friend was killed fighting Voldemort. Harry still cannot say his name. He cannot face the memories.

"They aren't pleasant, are they?" Draco's voice is quiet.

"No," Harry agrees.

Silence.

"Why did you leave?"

Draco's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"

Harry closes his eyes briefly and then walks towards the fireplace where he sits down on the chair. He is tired. "Why didn't you ever clear your name?"

Draco slowly turns around so that he faces Harry again. In the flickering light, he is an old man. Just like Harry. "What was the point?"

"The point?" Harry is incredulous. "Your father cleared his name easily. He died with full honours. Now, even the Muggle-borns sing his praises. He was invaluable in helping us fight the Muggles. You could have done the same." Unspoken: You didn't have to be like this.

"Maybe I didn't want to."

"Why?" Harry has been wondering this for a long time.

"I could never get what I wanted. I didn't want to go back."

Harry shifts in the chair. It is uncomfortable. "What did you want that was so important?"

"You."

The word is said so quietly that Harry is sure he misheard. "What did you say?"

"You," Draco repeats louder as he walks painfully over to where Harry is seated. "Now you know. Are you happy? Have the questions subsided or have they merely multiplied?"

The latter.

Harry can't help but feel flattered by the comment. But also a little perplexed. "You have been, what, hankering after me for seventy odd years? That is ... strange, to say the least." A snort escapes his lips. "What is there to want now? I'm old. I probably have arthritis."

"I'm not that young either."

"But why?" Out of all the questions now multiplying in Harry's head, this is the easiest to ask.

"You have the perfect life." Draco holds up a hand, stopping Harry from speaking. "Don't deny it. Perhaps you had a rather rotten childhood, but your life has gone perfectly since you got that Hogwarts letter. A few hiccups here and there. But essentially, you are the idol of the wizarding world. Everybody out there," a hand gestures vaguely, "they all worship you."

"You would call the death of my godfather, 'a little hiccup'?" Harry asks wearily. Seventy years earlier, he would have been at the other man's throat. But now he is too tired. Too old.

"A little hiccup," Draco repeats. "At least in the whole scheme of things anyway. I wanted your life. Ever since the first time we met, I wanted your life. Over the years, it shifted from wanting to be you, to simply wanting you."

Harry regards the other man silently from where he is seated. "But you never knew me. Not really."

"I did," Draco contradicted. "I watched and learned."

Harry begins to feel uneasy. "You have been watching me? For seventy years?"

"More," Draco says simply.

The uneasiness multiplies. Harry feels scared. He runs his fingers through his sooty hair, bringing down a small cloud of blackness. "I could have you arrested for that, you know."

"But you won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you would have left by now, if you wanted to. Face it, you're curious. You're an old man and you're curious because of the other old man standing in front of you professing to love you."

"Love?"

"Love," Draco confirms. He leans down and kisses Harry gently on the lips. "Now go."

Harry blinks dazedly. "Go?" He stands up and looks at the other man. There is a smudge of soot in Draco's silvery hair.

"You're obviously scared and you have every right to be. Just go." Draco turns around and waves a hand at Harry.

"But you just kissed me..." Harry still sounds confused.

"Trust me, Harry," Draco says his name softly, like something precious, "you don't want to be here. Forget the kiss. Forget you saw me. Go back to your big house."

"Don't you mean my big empty house? There's nobody there now. My children barely visit. My grandchildren only come in search for expensive gifts. Hermione... well, she's been amicable since the divorce. Nothing more. The entire wizarding world has forgotten me. Well, not forgotten. I'm an old man they trot out on occasions for parades. Nothing more." Harry stops and inhales, breathing thickly. "You're the only person to actually care for me in over thirty years."

Draco spins around slowly. There is a hint of something in his eyes, but Harry cannot read it. His glasses are blurry. "Harry, you don't want to make a mistake. I warn you, forget that you ever saw me. Go back."

"I will be going back to that house." There is a fleeting moment of sadness in Draco's eyes, then blankness. "But you're coming with me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Harry says softly. "I am sure."

Harry no longer gets lost travelling by floo. He has Draco to guide him.


End file.
